


Broken Things

by GillO



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Mr Gordo - Freeform, after The Gift, injured pig
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-10
Updated: 2010-11-10
Packaged: 2017-10-13 03:55:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GillO/pseuds/GillO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That long, empty summer after "The Gift" - Dawn needs a friend and so does Spike. And when there's canon character injury involved, Spike's the go-to vamp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Things

Summers women had no basic concept of the use of a door handle – or at least the younger versions didn't. Hinges were not a concept they showed much concern for either, especially not the rusty hinges of mouldering mausoleums, which, frankly, were never designed to stand up to a great deal of use in the first place. Summers woman now, he supposed. Better not go that way, though.

 

Other folks knew they had visitors when doorbells rang, or knocking sounds were heard. Spike generally knew about his guests when the door came crashing onto the floor and a sudden shaft of light threatened crispy skin once more. He shifted irritably in his chair. "Bit. Never heard of knocking on doors?"

 

The girl grinned, and Spike sighed. She'd got him. She knew her vamp was all bark, no bite, and not just because of the chip. He would never hurt his Platelet, however much bluster there was. Their bond was too strong.

 

Suddenly, grinning was the last thing he wanted to do. The reason for the bond was too raw, too recent to be explored. "Whatcher want, luv? You're not telling me the witchy girls know you're here. Given them the slip again?"

 

Dawn pouted and toe-traced a pattern in the dust on the floor. "Not exactly the slip. More information-management. Why tell them what would only bother them?"

 

There really was no point in arguing this. Sometimes a vampire, even a badass vampire, had to recognise he'd been outgunned. Back to the point. "What is it? Needing more crypt time? Or is there an actual point to the visit? And shouldn't you be in school?"

 

"School is dreary place where they indoctrinate you into conformity. You told me that yourself. Besides, hey, August. What world do you live in where school happens in this month?"

 

Spike narrowed his eyes and mounted his most mature, threatening expression. "Still not telling me a reason, pet. It's good to see you and all, but why now? Don't you know the undead has to get his beauty sleep?"

 

More toe-scratching. Definitely something up, then.

 

"You know the stuffed pig? Mr Gordo?"

 

Of all the bizarre openings in all the world…. "Yes, I've seen it. So?"

 

"It was kinda special. It was bought by... for..."

 

Oh great. Two unmentionables in one sentence. "By your mum for your sis, right? When she was little? So what's the deal?"

 

"I kinda sleep with him a lot these days. He well, smells of…" Some topics were a minefield, no doubt about that.

 

"Yes?" Patiently.

 

"Well, do you think they still make him? Is it possible to track down the manufacturers?"

 

"I don't know about that. I don't think so. Why? It's not as if a copy would, well, smell the same."

 

"No, I know that. But they might have spares. Or do repairs. Or something" Dawn held out her hand and uncurled the palm. Lying on it, in two pieces, was a small, beady, glass eye. "It came off, you see. I was just hugging him, and it came off, and if she knew I'd hurt him she'd be so pissed with me and he was hers from when she was tiny and if I ever so much as touched him she'd threaten to have my ass, and she's not going to do that again, I get that, but he's broken and he's hers and I don't know what to do, Spike."

 

"Bit, you're not telling me all, now, are you. I get it coming off, but broken? How'd that happen?"

 

Even more shamefaced look. "I got mad. I sorta threw it. Across the room. It was broken, see, and too many ... too many things ... just too many things are broken right now."

 

Hug the girl and she'd run. Spike knew that of experience. But not for nothing had he lived with Miss Sodding Edith for decades. Dru had loved her to bits. Multiple bits, all too often. He knew the drill. "You got any Hot Flash?" In response to her look of bewilderment, "Superglue, Platelet. Supermends superfast. You got some?"

 

"I dunno. We usually call Xander."

 

"There you go. Call Toolbox Boy and he'll sort you. Next?"

 

A whole lot of crap is talked about expressions in eyes. But here was one - the little frown, the pleading look – he knew there was no resisting.

 

"Right, nibblet. We're going out. Two options – new eyes, new glue. Both on the shelf in your nearest hobby superstore, just waiting to find their way home with us."

 

"You're taking me stealing? Cool."

 

"No. She – Buffy - wouldn't like that. I'm taking you shopping. Let's go."

 

And they went.


End file.
